


Hypnotic Spells

by sick_boy



Category: Death Spells, Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Asphyxiation, Buffet Froid, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Graphic description of cuts, Hannibal patches Will up, Hurt/Comfort, Hypnosis, Manipulative Hannibal, Massage, Mental Breakdown, Mental Coercion, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Self-Harm, Songfic, Will loses it, and Hannibal loves it, massage therapy, songfic but the lyrics are embedded naturally in conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:26:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sick_boy/pseuds/sick_boy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal hypnotizes Will under the premise of stopping Will's sleepwalking, but he gets a lot more information than he bargained for.  Hints of pre-Hannigram, but can (mostly) be a doctor/patient relationship</p><p>Uses lyrics from Death Spell's "Hypnotic Spells" from their album "Nothing Above, Nothing Below"</p><p>Warnings: canon-typical violence, graphic and open talk of self-harm, description of cuts and wound care</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lethargic, Hypnotic Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> My lyrics from "Hypnotic Spells" are unofficial (edit: they just released the official version of the song July 29, 2016 in case you were interested), and I intentionally left a few lines out and in one or two cases switched words so that it provided more fluidity and context for the story. In deciphering the lyrics, I used my own ear and various interpretations of the lyrics found on tumblr and lyric websites.
> 
> You can listen to the song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zknt6U7W8mE
> 
> And to cover my ass, I DO NOT own and am in no way affiliated with Death Spells or NBC Hannibal (though I wish I were.)
> 
> Tentative lyrics: http://pastebin.com/YuVqgGVu (though there are some mistakes, I used this as a reference)
> 
> 99% of Hannibal's instruction on hypnosis is from the song, so please don't credit me for that. However, all other dialogue is mine.

"Oh no." Will sardonically drew out his words, launching his wiry frame from the luxurious leather chair. He paced aimlessly through the study, the increasing distance from Hannibal a comfort from the intimacy of the psychiatrist's suggestion. Twilight greyed outside, and the sickly man bathed himself in the moderate rainstorm tapping against the window. It was 7:00 exactly when Will had thrust his belongings on the table and hastened toward the chair, finding himself eager to recount the latest milestone in his descent into madness.

Earlier in the week, he contaminated his first crime scene. He tried to appease Jack and even himself, but he never just "got lost in the reconstruction." He was fooling no one. And just yesterday, Dr. Sutcliffe had deemed his brain clear of any neurologically-based illness. But it was something he refused to accept. There was no other explanation for what was going on...

"Do you trust me, Will?" Hannibal asked mildly. Every action of his was mild. But the subtlety of the suggestion was not necessarily correlated to its presence, strength, or ability to enrapture the patient's attention.

"Yes, but..." The man yielded his previous conviction, tried to balance his respect for the doctor with the safety of his forts. Hannibal knew his intricacies by now, he knew the figurative pressure point he was holding his thumb just above.

"But not completely? Into the deepest recesses of your mind? Are you scared of what I might find under the reflections of others? I noticed that you encroach upon others' vocabulary, speech patterns. It's called echolalia. Do you fear hearing a voice entirely your own?"

Will sighed at his prying suggestions, rubbed a hand over his greasy face. It seemed the temperature of the extravagant office had raised a few degrees. The space was bigger than his first apartment in D.C. that he had shared with two other college students.

"Am I asking too much, Will? Your sleepwalking episodes have taken you into the middle of the road, onto your roof. You have driven while in a state of semi-consciousness. I expressed previously my concern for your safety. If you will allow me, I can plant a suggestion in your mind that will command your body to stay in bed through the night." Hannibal looked at Will, who had retraced his steps and now stood ten feet from him. "I wouldn't ask if this was not necessary."

Will idled a few steps closer, grazing his hand over the sage chair where he started. Jack was Officially Concerned, and there was a small chance this could work... "How would you do it?" His voice was barely audible over the steady Baltimore downpour.

Hannibal gestured towards the seat, and Will begrudgingly took his place opposite the psychiatrist. "I would..." he paused with slight amusement, "ask you to sit comfortably in a chair, with your legs uncrossed, feet flat on the floor, and your hands resting on your lap, on your legs, or on the arms of the chair." He waited until Will lay back on the chair and stopped fidgeting his arms. "Now, close your eyes, and begin to listen more closely to my voice." 

Will's eyes fluttered closed, but not for long. "I-I don't think this is working," Will said, his shaky voice clearly uncomfortable. Anxious eyes darted around the room, too conscious of his surroundings.

"If you're telling yourself this isn't working, then that is indeed the reason it isn't working." Hannibal eyed him keenly, though not out of impatience. He knew giving his mind over, even temporarily, to anyone would be nearly impossible. Still, he needed to be firm; if there was anyone who could crack this unique cocktail of neuroses, it was the esteemed Dr. Lecter. Slowly, Hannibal rose from his chair and walked behind his anxious patient. "Convincing yourself it is working is perhaps the very essence of hypnosis."

"What are you-" he started, but before Will could finish, Hannibal had both hands on his shoulders, starting to massage his tense trapezius muscles.

"During my time in Europe, I obtained certification in several types of massage therapies, Balinese, deep tissue... Bowen therapy, however, is prized for its non-invasive technique, so gentle it can be used on infants. A massage during hypnosis can help patients transcend levels of consciousness while relieving physical tensions." Hannibal smiled as he studied its immediate effect on Will. His head was slowly creeping forward, as if he was about to fall asleep. Hannibal crouched down, his lips now an inch from Will's right ear as he continued to work the tension out of his patient's shoulders.

He spoke in almost a whisper, letting the cadence of his European tongue work in rhythm with his kneading fingers. He could see Will's eyelashes flutter closed once again. "Hypnosis is a skill, like a dance where my voice will lead and you will naturally follow, allowing yourself to give in to the suggestions being given."

Will's head bobbed slightly to the movements of Hannibal's hands. "While there is no harm in falling asleep, and it indeed indicates that you did relax deeply, it is generally better to stay conscious and absorb what is being said. In a few moments, I’m going to ask you to look up above your head and into the light. In this way, your eyes will be turned strongly upward and start to feel strained and very tired. I will begin to count down from five down to one, until the eyes naturally close by the time I count down."

Will's head now hung loosely, nearly halfway towards touching his chest with his chin. His breath came in measured inhales and exhales.

"So now open your eyes and turn them upwards to gaze at a spot nearly directly above you, and imagine a point of light shining directly into your eyes. I’m going to count from five down to one, and as I do so, your eyes will begin to feel tired and heavy, like they want to close, and at any time, simply let them close." 

Will slowly opened his eyes, squinting at the now-oppressive light after having his eyes closed for a period of time. It was obvious that it required effort to hold his head up; even in the chair, he swayed slightly, though Hannibal had now stood to his full height and began walking slowly away from him.

"Five... four..." Hannibal drew out the syllables as he ambled across the room, turning on his casette recorder hidden in the crook above the sea of books. He recorded every conversation with Will, to review later, the way some consult the same book of poetry daily.

"Three... two... one." It only took until just before one for Will's eyes to close, now at level with Hannibal, who returned to his chair.

"You are to still maintain deep breathing and relaxation. If at any time I feel you need to be brought up from hypnosis, you will hear me count from five down to one, followed by me instructing you to 'let go' of any remaining drowsiness or lack of awareness. Are we clear?"

"Yes," Will replied quietly.

"Good. You may open your eyes when you feel comfortable."

His eyes opened momentarily after, his eyelids still heavy. Hannibal figured this must be how Will looks while he sleepwalks, just enough aware of his surroundings to maneuver around them.

"Please answer all questions with complete honesty." Hannibal made eye contact with Will before rubbing his hands together. He had no intention of placing a mental block in Will's head. He enjoyed the smell of fear in his sweat all too much, the desperation on his countenance as he recalled his most recent place he woke dazed and shivering. Luckily, Will would never know this, only become distraught over another therapy's failure to ameliorate his agony.

However, Hannibal was not unprofessional. He cared deeply for Will, and though he had the power to move all of Will's furniture around, he could not bring himself to alter Will's psyche any more than external manipulation. His downward spiral was a consummate work of art on its own. Despite his temptation at the thought that he could do anything to Will without his knowledge, he settled for the honesty that hypnosis provided.

"How are you feeling, Will? Honestly."


	2. Hallucinatory State

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The action begins!

_"How are you feeling, Will? Honestly."_

Will's restlessness was dampened under hypnosis, but not completely subdued. Though his movements were languid at first, he appeared to be sobering gradually, as if gauging where he stood on the spectrum of consciousness.

"I've lost my way," he said, his eyebrows flinching as his hands carelessly caressed the arms of the chair. Hannibal wondered if this was out of anxiety or need for tactile stimulation; he had yet to completely map his patient's autistic traits.

Before Hannibal could ask him to elaborate, Will chimed in again. "I've- I've been having... _overwhelming_ thoughts of s-sadness and-" He stopped himself short.

"Sadness and what, Will?" Interested, the doctor leaned farther on his chair.

Will swallowed, his eyes fixated on the plush carpet. "Sadness and- and s-self harm."

Admittedly, the doctor was a bit surprised. He had seen a few injuries on Will, but he knew from the angle that they were actually procured at crime scenes. Momentarily, he allowed himself to fantasize the man sitting in front of him slicing his forearm with- what instruments might he use? Kitchen knife? Nail scissors? He doubted Will was one for razor blades. Perhaps the straight razor that accompanied his ship-on-the-bottle excuse for shaving lotion? Hannibal had no time to further fantasize, not when his moments with good Will's loose tongue were limited.

"And where does this depression stem from?" He asked expectantly, hoping for a story from his childhood, maybe a time his father got a little too drunk, or the elaborate story of how his mother died.

Instead, Will waved him off. "My _depression's_ unimpressive. Stems from stress, or so they tell me."

Will wasn't aware of what he was saying anymore. His mouth was like a gushing wound, and he couldn't stop the emetic flow of words if he tried. Random tones, like the hearing test he received at his FBI-mandated physicals, muffled any external noise, save for Hannibal's booming voice, washing over his neurons in echoes. He thought of his depression, weighing down his bones like molten lead, in place of his marrow. He was dying from the inside out, his _brain_ was-

"My brain's on fire, I'm uninspired..." He inched closer to the edge of the seat before standing, each adjective now resounding through his brain like a mockery of his voice, which he still couldn't hear. He blinked away the moisture in his eyes, his gaze darting over the room. He couldn't explain it, but there was something that gravitated his anger towards the doctor, as he advanced towards him, his voice louder with each shakier step. "Pessimistic, _narcissistic_ , introspective, hateful crimes."

His glazed-over eyes found Hannibal's and didn't waver from contact. He lunged at Hannibal's throat, the tears in his eyes rolling down his cheeks (Hannibal ached to lick them off.) His knees bent on the edges of the chair, encasing the psychiatrist like he was a snake and Hannibal was the mongoose trapped under the house... Hannibal took a mental picture of this fiery rage erupting out of him, gushing through the newfound outlet for the darkness stewing in the depths of his belly, in the atoms that comprised him. It wasn't merely corruption from empathizing with serial killers day in, day out; it was, in fact, organic, but Hannibal would have to contemplate this at a later time.

The sight was one thing, but the smell... the smell was divine. The salty heat of adrenaline, the sweet tang of encephalitis. For a second, he had expected the after-odor of alcohol and the bitter remnants of a hallucinogenic, but the psychiatrist soon realized that Will's unraveling was all from Hannibal's suggestion, and that epiphany aroused him like a punch to his prostate.

But Hannibal soon had to resist his patient's hands on his throat, however arousing it was, and grasped each hand in his own. "Will, I'm going to count down from five," he instructed loudly, over Will's manic rambling.

"My obsession with contrition-"

"Five..."

"-leaves me waking feeling tired,"

"Four, three"

" _My subconscious has no conscience_ ," Will sobbed, not breaking eye contact, struggling against Hannibal's grip. He pulled his right hand free, clutching the fabric of Hannibal's tailored plaid suit and matching work shirt. 

"Two..."

"Stay asleep or _I will find you_ -"

"One. Let go!" Hannibal commanded, but it shockingly had no effect, as Will continued to rave, shaking on top of his psychiatrist as sweat formed at his temples.

" _Showing signs of drunk behaviour_ -" 

" _Let go_ ," Hannibal breathed, wrestling with Will's nearly-convulsing body dominating his, clawing to get at Hannibal's throat once again, settling on wringing the psychiatrist's suit.

"- _ **I'm so fucked up**_ ," he snarled, scrunching his face in disgust, breathing a ragged, shaky breath. "That's how I _feel inside_ ," he spat bitterly, showing his teeth in a sick smile. His mangled voice barely sounded human. Hannibal had seen the same expression on lab animals back at Johns Hopkins, chimpanzees ready to pounce, to fight a battle they knew to have already lost.

"Will- _**let go.**_ " Hannibal commanded, and the glaze over Will's eyes receded as the two words resounded in his ears, overpowering the atonal clusters. Immediately, confusion took over as he realized his position, the bruises purpling the doctor's neck. He jumped off of the chair, breathing ragged, skittering backwards until he hit a table.

"I-I-I'm so- sorry," he stuttered. "I n-need to go-"

"Will, it's alright, don't leave." Hannibal hoped his hypnotic command of Will somehow carried over now that he was fully conscious, but it appeared this was not the case. Will wiped at the tracks of tears that stained his face, more jogging than walking to the corner of the room where his bag and jacket lay on the dark-stained table.

Never was Hannibal fearful for his life; at any point, he could easily subdue Will, kill him if necessary, and tell Jack his fragile tea cup had shattered, but he was fascinated by this new carnal personality that infected Will's features and carved him into a new man entirely. He was intrigued as a professional, and as his friend surely, but, to his surprise at its intensity, he was deeply aroused. (He would have to take care of that later.)

"Will," he tried, pursuing him into the waiting room. "Will, I cannot allow you to go when I believe you to be a danger to yourself-" He grabbed below Will's left elbow and saw him flinch. _There it was_ , Hannibal thought. "I don't want to have to call Jack."

Glancing out the exit door he had opened, Will reluctantly closed it.

"Thank you," Hannibal bowed his head, gesturing back into his office. "Please, sit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so thankful for all the response I've gotten! It makes me very happy. The last installment will be up Friday. Until then, please continue to comment and criticize, any response is very much appreciated.


	3. Somnambulic State

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal takes care of his fragile little tea cup.

_"Please, sit."_

They returned to their seats, though this time Will's eyes were glued to his feet, his jacket and bag beside him.

Hannibal took a long breath. "Will, are you aware of anything you said to me during hypnosis?"

Will closed his eyes at the word "hypnosis," as though he could not acknowledge that he allowed someone into his mind. He shook his head, swallowed, winced. Hannibal wagered he was confused as to why his throat was sore.

"You mentioned that you were consumed with thoughts of self-harm." Hannibal watched as Will took his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed underneath his glasses.

"Would you mind showing me?" He knew Will minded, he knew Will was exploring every which way to weasel himself out of this, but it was imperative Hannibal keep this door open while he still had the chance.

"I wasn't- I didn't mean-" he stammered into his hands, failing to find the right words.

"You didn't mean what you said? I highly doubt that, Will. I merely asked how you were, and your subconscious confessed to me how troubling these feelings were on its own accord. Clearly, you needed to let it out, and I am honored you confided in me. It's much more than I'm used to hearing. I only wish you were this honest with me in every session. Then perhaps these nightmares might not plague you as often."

Will did not respond to this, but stared far off into the corner of the room, refusing to acknowledge any of this was happening.

"Do you know why people most often self-harm, Will?" Will winced at the sound of his name next to _that word._ Hannibal ignored it. "It's because they bottle their emotions so tightly that they magnify under the surface, multiply like a virus, until their subconscious is a background painted in distress, an atmosphere of inner turmoil. The release they want in emotional form becomes distant, unavailable. Their emotions compact until they can't feel a thing."

Hannibal took a breath. "Will, you haven't been feeling yourself because _you cannot feel yourself._ You cling to the emotions of killers because their mindsets are favorable to yours; they're easily accessible, and more importantly, understandable."

Will's lip quivered as his eyes reddened under his glasses. "S-so what do I do?" He uttered helplessly.

"Dear Will..." Hannibal sighed. As delicious as it was to practically taste his torment, he felt a ghost of sympathy in the room. Of course, he couldn't dismantle all that he had built up over the months, but he needed to lessen his patient- his _friend's_ suffering, at the very least to keep up appearance.

"Start by showing me. Let me in, consciously." Hannibal studied his patient's defeated posture before rising from his chair and pushing it until it was a foot in front of Will. After retrieving his first aid kit from his desk drawer, he sat once again and opened his hand. Though he could just reach for Will's arm, his permission was very important for each step in his plan.

With hesitation, Will extended his left arm and Hannibal gave him a small smile. The doctor unbuttoned his sleeve, and rolled it up to his elbow. From his wrist onward were numerous scars in various shades and degrees of healing, some winding and collateral from countless FBI takedowns (a flash of Will kicking down the Hobbs' door stirred Hannibal's heartbeat) and some straight and deep. Deliberate. Many were years old, barely noticeable, and some were still dark with damage still evident under the surface.

His most recent endeavor was two inches from where the ulna connected with the humerus, four deep cuts like claw marks started midway from the radius and extended to the other side of his arm. The cuts had scabbed over, which indicated that they were a few days to a week old. However, his violent actions under hypnosis had broken the crusty surfaces in several areas, and small beads of blood dared to trickle down his arm. The inside of Will's flannel shirt was coated with dark smears.

" _William_ ," he remarked. It appeared dear Will still contained a number of surprises, but Hannibal had time to unwrap his special gift, savour his anticipation. He donned the blue gloves from the kit, ready to examine his forearm. He wondered if Will saw the subcutaneous tissue-

"I didn't stitch them cause I didn't see the fat," he muttered, reading his mind. Hannibal wondered if Will's empathy could ever elevate to telepathy. He glanced at Will, but he had already lowered his head once again.

"That is if there is any fat in your arm; you are skin and bone." He looked for signs of his patient's discomfort at this particular intimacy, but Will was still frozen in fear. Hannibal was going where no man- possibly no person entirely, had gone before.

He then began to lightly palpitate his arm, checking for any pockets of puss or hematomas. "When?"

Will held his free hand to his forehead. "After I contaminated the crime scene. I keep a pocket knife in my car. My blood mixed with Beth LeBeau's on my shirt as I drove back to Wolf Trap."

Hannibal nodded. It was evident Will used self injury to ground him back to reality, using his cuts as a point of reference, the healing scabs a reliable constant when time was lost.

"When did this start?" The doctor asked, bending Will's hand back to check for any indication that he had cut into veins or muscles.

Will went to answer, then exhaled. "I don't know. I used to bang my head into walls and scratch myself when I was a kid. My dad knew when I touched something cause my cuticles were always bloody, there'd be red on some of the motor tools."

"Make a fist," Hannibal instructed, and Will complied. His fist was still as strong as ever. Making sure to keep his tone conversational, he pressed, "And the cutting?"

"Uhh," he stammered as Hannibal bent each finger back, checking his face for pain. "Late high school? I got the pocket knife in college."

Hannibal sighed at the length of Will's pain. He had mentioned school counselors that checked up on him, but they clearly never fathomed the depth of Will's suffering, the abyss that not only stared back, but consumed his gaze. A look into Will's eyes, and how rare that was, for this reason Hannibal imagined, told of his tribulations. Will knew that his eyes betrayed him, displayed his emotions for all to see despite his attempts to suppress any and all feeling that wasn't vital to his work. He couldn't look into others' eyes without taking on their pain, and others could not look into his without knowing his secrets. _Poor, poor Will..._ Hannibal thought. And they were still not at the roller coaster's zenith- the plunge would so much greater than Will could ever imagine.

Hannibal took a breath, distancing himself from his reverie. "As for the stitches, though I'm certain Quantico has taught you well, I would much prefer if you came to me." Hannibal offered a small smile, but Will continued to stare into his lap, a light blush to his face, unable to contain his shame.

"There is no reason for embarrassment, Will." Hannibal reached for the rubbing alcohol and a washcloth. He placed the cloth on Will's knee under his arm. "You are not the first person I've treated for self-injurious behaviour. Forgive me if my previous remarks provoked an air of chastisement. I'm merely surprised I failed to see the signs."

"Maybe there were no signs," Will entertained, as he leaned his head on his uninjured hand, desperate to claim any semblance of distance from the situation. Hannibal wondered when his last instance of physical contact was, save for the occasional tempting hug from Alana Bloom. But Alana wasn't troublesome. She knew Will's instability was no match for her professionalism if she wasn't to marry her next thesis statement. No, if Hannibal wanted to get intimate with Will, it would take little ushering. All sexuality aside, Hannibal understood him like no other, could provide for him a symbiotic, though unequal relationship that Will yearned for despite his asocial features.

"This is going to sting." He gently tipped the clear bottle over until a small stream fell on Will's skin.

Will stifled a cry as he raced to dig the nails of his free hand into his knee.

"Ah ah," Hannibal chided. "Escaping pain by inducing other pain, that's what we just discussed, is it not?"

"What would you have me do then?" Will sneered, the edge back in his voice. Hannibal's mind flashed back to the exquisite moment when his companion's fingers seized his neck. Oh, how he longed to study the bruise...

"Allow yourself to feel pain undistracted. Accept it. Submit to it. At times, there is nothing else you can do." Hannibal stole another look at his patient's beautifully tortured face as he dried Will's forearm with a paper towel and removed the washcloth on his knee.

Hannibal took the surgical pad and gauze from the box, applying the large white pad to the injured forearm and wrapping the gauze protectively around it.

"You don't have to..." Will interjected on the silent focus of the moment.

"I don't want you touching this, Will. I can see you've interfered with the healing process by picking the scabs. That's another form of self injury in itself. I have also found the adhesive on this brand of surgical pad to wear quickly." Hannibal organized the first aid kit, then added, "Are there any other recent wounds I should examine?" He eyed Will carefully, reminding him that he knew when Will wasn't telling the complete truth.

"No... the ones on my stomach are healing." Hannibal nodded before returning the kit to his desk drawer.

Will seemed to rouse out of his protective shell. "What time is it?" He asked.

"It is 8:53." _(You are in Baltimore, Maryland, and your name is Will Graham, his mind silently filled in the silence.)_

"I'm sorry I've taken so much of your time," he apologized, standing as he re-buttoned his sleeve and slipped on his coat with little difficulty. Still, he avoided Hannibal's face. "Thank you for everything you've done-"

"Will," he said, and that's all it took for him to stop his route out the door. "I think we both know it's not safe for you to go home alone like this."

"Like what? Tell me, doctor, _what am I feeling?_ " he dared. He refused to be another person's fragile little tea cup.

"You're regretting allowing me to hypnotize you, shocked that you became violent," Will winced at the word, though his one glimpse of Hannibal's neck had told him enough, "embarrassed that your self harm was discovered, albeit by your own mouth, and you wish to do me no further disservice by allowing me to 'coddle' you, as you see it. However, Will, I assure you that having a friend stay the night is no trouble, but enjoyable, despite the circumstances being rather serious."

Hannibal had said all of this to the side of Will's head, but for the first time since he came out of hypnosis, Will met Hannibal's eyes, for a brief moment. He thanked fate for his eidetic memory; one of these days, he would draw Will's eyes. One of these days, he might have Will's eyes in a drawer...

"Please, allow me to do my duty to you as both your psychiatrist and your friend."

"My dogs-" Will started.

"-will be fine. You fed them before coming here, did you not?"

After a small sigh, Will nodded. He was defenseless.

"Okay," he agreed. He even faked a smile, however watery it was.

Hannibal returned his smile in full. "Give me a moment to tidy the office," he said. "You may wait in the waiting room."

Hannibal quickly turned off the cassette recorder amongst the books and returned it to the locked drawer in his desk. After one last glance over of his office, he flicked the lights out.

Will was going to sleepwalk again tonight, he knew it, and Hannibal could not wait to follow him, study him, and take care of him when it was time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First- sorry for the anticlimatic ending, i suck haha. But i did add a lot to this while editing one last time!
> 
> Thank you so much for all the feedback! Writing this has been the highlight of my summer (which says something about my summer haha.) Please tell me what you thought of the ending, criticism is welcome and encouraged. I miiiight write a follow-up to this (Will staying the night at Hannibal's) but that has been done so many times, and I feel like I've already taken some influence from all the beautiful fics i've read.


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